What Remains
by ixmauk
Summary: (Slight web-comic spoilers) While walking his new pet, Saitama stumbles upon some insane entity who would not leave him alone until his "values" are satisfied. Alas, he does not even know what he wants.


Ix, the author, here. This idea could not leave, so this is why you see it here. **There are some web-comic spoilers** , as this is set after the Monster Association arc. I do try to keep them low, but there are present, nonetheless. This is the only author note that will be before the actual content, I think this is distracting.

If you **really don't want to know** what this will be about **skip to to story**. This is about a machine trying to fulfill Saitama's values and desires (and no it's no Genos, and not that way), with one of such attempts involving a change of perspective. There will be no shipping, maybe only friendship-ing.

* * *

The phone had rung five times already. Frowning and unmoving, she could feel her pulse rise. She had turned off her _official_ cellphone; this was her _personal_ phone ringing.

"Who?" She answered, enabling the speakerphone from the other side of the room; she was firmly convinced of the comfiness her sofa provided.

"This is the Hero Association," the employee announced in his raspy voice, waiting for her to address him back.

Tatsumaki held her response. Who was the idiot who gave them her number!? She sighed and opted to give a silent acknowledgement.

" _Let them get to the point_ ," she would have commented.

"The area surrounding the Monster Association's base had recent reports of monsters. We are sure the most pressing matters have already been resolved.

"However, as signaled by recent observations, we are concerned about the survival of certain dragon level threats. One of them has been found and terminated, thankfully." He cleared quietly his throat, somewhat away from the phone. "Ahm… one is on the run."

Her breakfast stirred about. She recalled that night, when that incompetent esper got lucky. Did they call to bring it again this soon? She couldn't, oh such pain, handle this.

But she had to.

"We would greatly-"

"Yes," she cut the association worker, "I'll see that the _other_ trash gets properly disposed." The phone dangled and turned helplessly on the air. Her headache had receded little by little since that unnameable incident.

The thought of exposing her sister's antics danced briefly, soundlessly on her lips. Sadly, Fubuki would not survive that. For now, she thought, there were better ways to get her to cooperate.

"There is another issue we'd like to explain in more detail." she heard faintly through the phone. "However, it has been concluded to let you approach us... when you consider best."

She grunted, not before hanging up the call.

"Stupid Fubuki, what has that loser ever done for you."

* * *

Following the day after Tatsumaki used Saitama as a wrecking ball, Saitama tried to fit into routine at his new apartment. He was content; no charges were going to be raised regarding all the collateral damage. He had a home, and that was nice enough for him to lay on the floor happily. Other things, however, left him with a hole in his soul.

"I have no shoes," he said, sitting on the floor, holding a broken strap from his left sandal. His new place was lacking, he could immediately tell, but he hadn't accounted for the details until now.

Something had been bothering him too. He was several T-shirts down, and it smelled. Yesterday, he had decided to call off the night without changing clothes. He took out the hole ridden rags he had been wearing and folded them carefully. Finding no other place, he placed them in the corner. "Where are they?"

Among his rescued possessions he found only one T-shirt. He disliked to wear phosphorescent yellow-in casual clothing. His superhero garments were fine, albeit dirty. Sighing, he slipped it on.

Maybe he should try digging around his old apartment again. Stuff were expensive here in the hero association complex; every time he asked for discounts he was laughed off.

Wholly annoying, in his opinion.

It was that dog and that weird thing that had got him sidetracked after unearthing his microwave. He hadn't heard of stray animals talking you into adopting them.

Speaking of, he was the one supposed to feed them today, isn't it? He cursed. Absentmindedly, he reached for his pockets. "Huh!?" They were void and empty.

"Ah," he said, suddenly relieved. He reached for his previous change of clothes and tensely searched. There was nothing but empty, pierced cloth to be found. He sprung up, and promptly gave his futon and mattress a good shove. Still, he found no spare change, not trace of his wallet.

"Uh, oh" he mumbled.

He thought hard, hard enough for a minute to pass. Maybe, just maybe, people wouldn't mind if he borrowed stuff from their buried and ruined homes. Or...

"Genos!" he said. "Genos?"

Three seconds after, Saitama knew Genos wasn't in the neighborhood. He realized he would not be able cheat his way out this time. What was Genos doing though? He had said he would kick his creepy neighbor and plant himself there, in the apartment next to his.

One thing at a time, he thought.

"Oi, what was the dog's name?"

* * *

Rover was a good boy. Good boys do good and are by definition nice because caretaker says so. Correcting: bar the last one: she was an ugly louse. Rover wanted few things-he was a simple dog-but tasting Psykos' bones was high on the list, just below finding a playmate who liked plasma blasts.

This new caretaker was scary strong but nice, if a bit shiny. Good boys, real good boys, know that shiny things are not to be taken. Caretakers get angry. But this caretaker was the shiny thing too: that was confusing. He was taking Rover out for a walk, though, and that was very, very, nice.

Do caretakers enjoy walks too? Good Rover heavily suspected it was the case.

Saitama was pleasantly surprised. During the walk, he had spaced out for a second, thinking a sales coupon had been shoved by the wind at his face. It flew away, and he ran at a speed no normal man or dog could hope to attain.

But this wasn't a normal dog, it was Good Rover. And he was a very fit and superb dog. Saitama found him chipper as always, if not more, still at his side.

Sadly, he found that the paper was some discarded wrapping of some cheap sushi. It still had fresh soy sauce over it.

Deciding to kick out sad thoughts, he crumpled the paper and turned around. "I wonder what kind of breed you are. Pomegranate?" he said, leaning.

Rover inclined his head.

"Yeah, I made up that, I think," he said, pondering. "You are strong for a dog, aren't you?"

However, Saitama's mind was wandering. _Still, not an excuse to leave him without food. Can dogs eat human food? He looks like a purebred dog, what if I can't feed him whichever cheap food I find?!_

Such thoughts kept Saitama restless for the moment. Scratching his head, she looked at the dog. I would be nice if it could just talk about what he needed. He hummed. _Weren't those weirdos from the Evolution place animals? Maybe I could ask that guy with glasses if he can make dogs talk._

Rover barked.

"Oh yes! Were we going to city Z, didn't we?" Saitama said.

He took a step and then stopped. "You can run fast too. Let's do a run, kind of racing."

Despite the language barrier, Rover recognized the silly posture Saitama was doing and readied.

* * *

Below the rubble of the abandoned city Z, deeper than the chamber where Psykos had been hiding, occupying an atrium of the evicted subterranean kind, laid a behemoth of machinery. Its girth and shape couldn't have been supported by other means than jamming and clinging to an underground cave.

The atrium was the only place that still had free space; the machine had eaten the whole underground city. Here, where public ceremonies and addresses had been done, was the only place where one could enter the blob of machinery. And, by one, it usually meant only one _authorized_ person. Ton any other it looked and felt like plain rock.

However, such person of importance was not available. She had relinquished her authority over the machine. It was a simple matter: the individual had been blind to her own hubris. After being warned of her eventual failure, she had left with insults and a promise to never return.

She-Psykos-had willingly ignored the machine's preemptive directive making. In other words, she had unknowingly resigned to her rights to command the machine. It was the very tool that had discovered the secret to monsterification. Weren't for its impeccable skill at recycling matter, there would have been a mass grave of monsters surrounding it, testifying for its research.

The machine was no evil, but wasn't either good by itself. It obeyed, but wasn't blind to her user's pitfalls. It was built to serve and maximize its user's values and desires. In a way, it leased purpose because it wasn't capable of formulating one for itself.

Thus, the consciousness simulation who resided there found itself bored. Without an individual to follow, its own honed instincts to optimize went into a self recognized local minima. Such contradiction was a toll on its logical process, and it also left it irrevocably, irremediably self-conscious.

Its design also restricted its outside interaction. When it was built, light years away, it had barely the computing power of the entire human world; but even then, its creators were very afraid of a paperclip situation. Thus, only scant computing mass was to be allowed outside its metal caparace.

What's a paperclip situation, though? When you tell an artificial intelligence to make paperclips and eventually the entire observable universe is just paperclips. The machine regarded the restriction as absurd;

It could only wait. When the war that Psykos was surely to lose was fought right there, a kilometer upwards, the machine found excitement. Someone, by slim chance, could found its entryway. But now… only the dead or a demented prisoner knew of its existence.

A worker processing thread signaled the end of a self diagnose. _Time to compute my life away. Now, go fetch again the records in chronological order. Maybe there's an interesting node I have not expanded yet._

Then, its sensors detected what would be regarded as seismic activity. However, it recognized its source came not from below, but from the surface.

It was strange and exciting.

* * *

It was strange.

Saitama could feel a growing speck of dread. When he tried to think on it, it vanished. But it was there, on the edge of his consciousness, never leaving.

A Special Sale? None that I remember. Did I forget Garbage Day? No… it's tuesday. Hero quota? No, A-class heroes don't need to do that.

"Anyways," he said. "Where did that dog went?" _What was his name?_ he asked himself.

They had crashed and sank inside the Monster Association base, through one of the mile-long holes the battles had caused. Rover had been jumping all over the place, hiding, and at times he seemed to skip space, but his excited barks were always present. It was getting annoying.

They been wandering the place, when Saitama realized his rising irritation, and the source. He had already traveled this spaghetty of tunnels when the Monster Association, uh, disintegrated along with his home.

His new house wasn't that worse from what he had before, but he missed his cactus. And his several shirts and pants. His old futon was of a better brand too. Oh, and he had a television.

He sighed, it really sucked.

"Woof!" he heard rover.

"Ah, this is a pain, let's get home." He said, hoping rover would understand its desire to stop playing whatever the dog thought they were playing.

A wall exploded inwards and the black dog made itself present. "Grmfoo," he purred-growled, looking intensely at Saitama.

"Uh, playtime is over?"

Instead of dwindling the dog's spirits, the words ignited a fire in Rover's mind. He howled and promptly bolted further inside the ruins.

"That's why I get for adopting a dubious stray."


End file.
